


Nothing More

by MothMeetsFlame



Category: Supernatural
Genre: "Completely Platonic" Kissing Between Brothers, Aftermath of Jessica's Death, Alternate Canon, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bottom Dean, Canonical Character Death, Cold Oak, Complete, Cuddling & Snuggling, Dry Humping, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Angst, Grief/Mourning, Hallucinations, Kissing, M/M, Not "Completely Platonic" Kissing Between Brothers, Post-Hell Dean, Season/Series 09 Spoilers, Sibling Incest, Slow Build, Soulless Sam Winchester, Top Sam
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-19
Updated: 2014-10-11
Packaged: 2018-02-13 21:02:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 10,341
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2165082
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MothMeetsFlame/pseuds/MothMeetsFlame
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt: Sam and Dean kiss. Often, every time they can, and yet 'that's completely platonic/brotherly love.' Until one time they get too excited - if you know what I mean. So they finally acknowledge their immense love and the fact that they're soulmates.</p>
<p>"<em>A comfort</em>, Dean told himself. And that was what he believed. A comfort. Nothing more."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Job Well Done (s01)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [RossKL](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RossKL/gifts).



> This was written for [RossKL](http://archiveofourown.org/users/RossKL/pseuds/RossKL) who asked for some heavy kissing and fluff and schmoop, with possibly a hint of smut. I am sorry that it's taken so long to write, but it's quite long. 9 chapters, one for each season, are on their way. The chapters will be set approximately a year apart with spoilers up to the season 9 finale. This is just the beginning, a little tease to start us off. There will be smut in later chapters, but get ready for a slow build. 
> 
> Enjoy ;)
> 
> [中国](http://weibo.com/5408098632/BFxq6g0U4?type=repost): Big thank you to 利芙舔啪嗒 for the translation into Chinese :) You're awesome.

Dean watched Sam’s apartment go up in flames, watched the fire consume the only person outside of his brother and father that Sam had ever loved. Dean expected flashbacks, anger and grief. He expected denial and self-hatred. Hell, he half expected to have his throat slit in his sleep for dragging his brother back into the mess that had gotten his girlfriend killed in the first place.

He slept fine, ate when Dean told him. It was as if nothing had happened. Other than the ones that trailed down his cheeks when the fire department put out the blaze, Sam didn’t shed a tear. He worked like a machine. Sam combed the papers and scoured the web, looking for any trace of their father. When they’d both deemed it a lost cause, he took to Hunting in the same fashion, following the small trail their father had left them—Hansel and Gretel following John’s breadcrumbs.

Hours turned into days, days into weeks. It was bordering on the four week line when whimpers from the other side of the room woke Dean.

Sam writhed on the bed, hands continuously fisting into the sheets. If Dean hadn’t been so subconsciously attuned to his brother, he wouldn’t have woken at all. There was even the possibility that Dean had slept through some of his other nightmares, but that thought was quickly dismissed in favor of waking Sam from whatever was chasing after him in the dark.

“Sam,” Dean said harshly. “ _Sam_.”

Sam gasped and opened his mouth an a facsimile of a scream, his still closed eyes the only indication that he was dreaming.

“Dammit,” Dean cursed. The last few weeks of Sam soldiering through it had rekindled his hope in the Winchester Method of Keeping Things Inside Until They’re Gone. He should have known that it wouldn’t last. It never did. “Sam,” he called again. He took his brother by the shoulders and shook lightly, waiting for Sam’s reflexes to kick in.

Sam’s eyes shot open, glazing with murderous intent at being woken so suddenly. His arms tensed as if to strike, but recognition lit his face, and he relaxed in Dean’s grasp. His eyes swam, and in an unusually vulnerable action, Sam pulled Dean down on top of him and held on for dear life.

He cried into Dean’s shoulder, all of the pent up anger and frustration and hurt and heartbreak leaving his body in tiny wet droplets that soaked Dean’s shirt. Strong arms closed around him and held him tight like they hadn’t since he was young enough not to know how to fire a gun.

Dean didn’t speak, wouldn’t have known what to say if he’d wanted to. It had been almost twenty years since he’d seen Sam cry. Whatever he’d been expecting, it hadn’t been this. Sam was more like their father than Dean would care to admit. Frustration and anger hid inside of them, just waiting for an outlet. John hadn’t taken it out on Dean more than once, but Sam was different. His big brother was stronger than him, a perfect outlet for his anger. If Dean expected to have to deal with anything, it would have been fists, not a tirade of tears that he was less than equipped to handle.

So, he did what he could and held Sam together as much as he was able to, letting his tears run their course, starting with choking sobs that shook his entire frame and made Dean seriously considered medical attention, to quick and quiet hitches of breath that came from crying too hard for too long.

Dean’s steady breathing could hardly be heard over Sam’s own, but the room was quiet around them, the silence stretching on interminably before them. Dean opened his mouth and closed it a half-dozen times before he settled on keeping it closed. His head swam with words that he knew he wouldn’t say. Sam didn’t need condolences. He needed his brother. He needed someone to hold him.

Sam was warm and alive in his grasp, something that Dean didn't think would ever stop being a novelty. He was almost too late. One minute was the difference between life and death. Jessica hadn't faired well in the deal, but Dean couldn't be anything but grateful that he had been able to save the right person because, if there had ever even been a choice for him, he would always choose Sam. 

Dean's arms tightened around his brother, shifting them closer together, though Dean would never admit that he needed the comfort just as much.

Sam turned his head so it could press against Dean's neck, tiny puffs of breath hitting his skin, tickling the small hairs at his nape. Dean looked down at his baby brother, surprised to find two wide eyes seeking him as well. The too bright streetlamp shone through the window, casting enough light for Dean to see the smallest of sad smiles grazing Sam's lips. Dean could read him like a book. It was as if they'd only been separated for a few days instead of a few years while Sam was away. It just felt right to have Sam close. 

The curve of his smile pursed, turning the expression pensive. A small crease appeared on Sam's brow like it always did when he was thinking hard about something. 

_Whatcha thinkin' about, Sammy?_ Dean parted his mouth to ask, but the words never made it past the forefront of his mind. 

Black and white in the darkness of the room, Sam’s lips pressed flush against his. The molded themselves to Dean’s own, soft and trembling, giving him a mile when all Dean asked for was an inch. It started slow, just a quick press, a comfort more than anything, but something lingered beneath the surface that neither Dean nor Sam wanted to examine with any real effort.

_A comfort_ , Dean told himself. And that was what he believed. A comfort. Nothing more.

Sam’s lips parted just a hint, enough to breathe the same air as Dean, to feel the warmth of each others’ breath, the damp air shared between the two brothers, but it didn’t become more than that. Tongues were kept in check. The desire that sizzled between them was ignored out of sheer will.

Twenty years of synchronicity made their movements fluid. They melted together like they’d done for years before Sam left, both disappearing into the other until they weren’t Sam and Dean, separate people, brothers, but _SamandDean_ , the same person, one.

Dean held Sam so closely that there wasn’t even any chance for him to fall apart or for the kiss to stray into something more. Dean relished in his brother’s life.  Never had Winchester Luck been anything but a nuisance, but he couldn’t doubt its ability to keep them all alive. And here Sam was, safe in his arms—better still, in his arms and seeking a comfort only Dean could provide him. He needed his big brother right now, so that was what Dean gave him.

He deepened the kiss just enough to make Sam’s head swim, to make the thoughts that plagued him in sleep cower in the wake of Dean’s presence. He hardened himself and lent Sam his strength, conveying _I love you_ and _I’m sorry_ with every fiber of his being. Sam needed him, and Dean wouldn’t let him down.

Time was irrelevant, but the streetlamp clicked off and the warning tendrils of sunrise shone through the window, basking them in a yellow glow. Dean pulled back, taking in Sam’s flushed cheeks and lidded eyes, the dampness of his lips, and knew that Sam would sleep well for the next few hours at least—a job well done.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you like it = kudos.  
> If you love it = comment.  
> If you like _and_ love it = kudos, comment, and screech like a pterodactyl, breathing fire on unsuspecting townspeople until they scream in panicked excitement like this fic has caused you to do.


	2. It'll Be Okay (s02)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spoilers for the s02 finale of _Supernatural_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 2 is finally here! Thanks for all of the kudos I received on this work, and that goes double for the comments. I never thought this fic would be so well received :) Makes me happy. I hope you all enjoy today's chapter. It's a long way from schmoop, but it couldn't really be helped. Once the idea planted itself in my brain, I couldn't shake it loose.

Dean sat and stared in the direction of the bed. The sun no longer shined through the window, and the electricity that lit the porch light quit sometime a few hours before, but it made it easier that he couldn’t see even an inch in front of him. Hours of confinement in the decrepit room with nothing but rot to keep him company slowly drained him of the energy to function, let alone to care about something as trivial as light. Eye sight would be wasted on him anyway, so the sun set, and the room darkened, and Dean sat, refusing to think, to move, just staring in the direction of the single bed in the room.

 _Sam_ …

Dean flinched slightly at the stray thought.

There had been rain before to mask his cascade of fallen tears, but Dean was exceptionally dry-eyed now, his misery lodged too deep within to be allowed even the smallest of escapes. Even words left him hours ago. Speaking into the darkness around him was too final, too easy. He’d had his moment to say his piece, but cowardice didn’t become him, so he didn’t speak. Just sat.

He contented himself to sitting in the chair until the smell of rot soaked through his clothing and his skin to the very depths of his already broken soul, stripping it of the small amount of life he clung to despite himself. There was only one reason he’d forced himself to live so long.

First time he even realized he had a brother, he was four years old. A tiny little bungle of God-awful smell on bad days and screaming headaches on the good walked through the door wrapped in Mom’s arms with pink cheeks and less hair than a middle-aged defense attorney. Dean didn’t think he’d ever grow hair, but no one could even tell now that he’d been that bald once, or that small.

The kid didn’t do anything but cry and poop and eat and make Mom and Dad too tired to play with him. Dean hated him, thought it would have been easier to live without him. He wished for someone to come and take him back to the hospital where he came from. Dean didn’t want him, not for a long time. But even on the bad days, Mom would come in and whisper to the both of them that angels were watching over them, that everything would be better in the morning.

 _He’s_ …

Dean hadn’t believed in angels since the fire. There wasn’t someone out there in the sky, looking out for anyone—at least not the Winchesters. Praying never got anybody anywhere. Demons and true Evil, it was out there. It was tangible. Dean could put a name to it and spot it and fight it. Maybe there was some true Good out there too. Maybe it was in the people who fought against the things hiding in the dark, trying to disrupt the ebb and flow of normal life. But the existence of _angels_ was never even a question for him.

There was no such thing as Heaven.

And there were no such things as angels.

The only Good that happened in the world was what he did for himself, for his family, and time was the only sonofabitch he couldn’t fight against. Demons had had it out for them since before Mom had died, and for what? Death was pointless. He couldn’t even think of a single reason that _fighting the good fight_ was worth anything more than the dirt under his worn boots, not anymore. More creatures always existed. Death didn’t go away just because someone out there with a gun thought they could hold it back.

Everyone died in the end. It was all about timing. No one could stop it. No one could prevent it. No one could turn back that clock, powered by _what ifs_ and _if onlys_ , and expect to set things right. Reality didn’t work like that.

There was only the next decision, the next step, making choice after choice after choice until you were too old or too sick or too fucking gone to make any more, and then you died. Sometimes you didn’t even make it that far. Sometimes, Death was an asshole and took you right in the middle of something important, something life-changing—never the right time and not in the way you expected.

 _Dead_.

 _No_.

If there was anything Dean knew, it was the way the world worked. You fought or you died. It was bloody and violent from the moment you opened your eyes, and it stayed that way until even after you were gone. Violence wasn’t synonymous with Evil. Violence was a part of life, and sometimes it was a part of death.

_Not this time._

Dean used his arms to lift himself from the creaky chair, moving for the first time in twelve hours. He didn’t need to see to walk the three paces to Sam’s bedside, just instinctively knew where his head was to run a hand through his too-long hair.

“Everything’s gonna be okay, Sammy,” he whispered. “I’ll make everything okay.” He pressed a kiss to his brother’s lips, trying his hardest to pretend they weren’t cold.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter to come Monday :) It will be set sometime in s03, and it will have much more in the way of fluffy schmoop, so stay tuned. 
> 
> If you like it = kudos  
> If you love it = comment  
> If you like _and_ love it = kudos, comment, and sob uncontrollably, blowing your nose into an obscenely countless amount of tissues and cursing my name (it's John btw) until the next chapter is released


	3. Good Night, Sleep Tight (s03)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spoilers for the s02 finale of _Supernatural_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *screaming internally because the kudos counter is stuck at 99 and I'm having an OCD moment*
> 
> And here's the third chapter. It's much earlier than I was planning on posting it because I'm not going to have time to do it tomorrow, so if there are any mistakes, blame it on the idiot who wrote it. Wait... that's me. Damn. 
> 
> No spoilers for s03 here, and there's just the _tiniest little bit_ of angst. Mostly, there's some Sam/Dean snuggling action going on. Hope you all like :)

Dean reached over and flipped the switch on the headboard, effectively casting the room into darkness. Strong arms pulled him closer, readjusted him until he was comfortable. Dean nestled himself deeper into the crook of Sam’s arm, wanting to be closer to him while he still could.

It seemed like everything he did now had those few words tacked onto the end of them: while he still could.

“Stop thinking.”

Dean lifted his head toward his brother, unable to see anything in the darkened motel room.

“I’m gonna get you out of this, Dean. So stop worrying about it.”

“But—”

“No. It’s all gonna work out. Just wait and see.”

“Sam...”

A set of familiar lips claimed his, soft and gentle. All of his protests seemed to fall away in the wake of his brother’s touch. The held him in a caress and moved against him slowly, conveying a determination that his words couldn’t even hope to compare to. Dean’s mind melted into a puddle of nothingness, his body taking over on sheer instinct.

He parted his mouth just enough for Sam to breathe in his fear and replace it with tenderness and passion. A hint of yearning, for something he couldn’t put a name to, was there also, burning away the unease in his chest, loosening it until it could no longer find purchase inside of him and was forced to flit away, unloved and unwanted.

Eleven months since he’d made his deal, and there wasn’t much hope in sight, but the tension left Dean’s shoulders. One by one, every muscle in Dean’s body relaxed against Sam, molding itself to his brother. He’d learned to rely on Sam’s strength through this one, and since his deal, everything had been strange—better, but strange.

They hugged more and bickered less about the little things. More often than not, Sam would be the one sneaking into Dean’s bed after a particularly bad nightmare, always there with strong arms and soft words, a slow kiss or two until they were happening frequently enough for them to forego the separate beds altogether.

They’d gotten more than one look from motel clerks at the obvious closeness, but Dean usually ignored them, making a few jokes or ranting to Sam in private. They didn’t bother him too much. He knew what this was, knew how wrong they were. Sam was his _brother_. They slept together—platonically, of course—when necessity dictated, and they took their comfort where they could get it. It was only natural after spending years living in each others’ back pockets for them to be close, not that it was anyone else’s business.

Sam pulled back for half a second, leaving Dean’s moist lips exposed to the cold air. He pressed them down again once, a small peck, before kissing both of his eyelids in turn. Once more on his forehead and Dean was completely relaxed against him, not a bad thought in sight.

Dean didn’t have much experience with being on the receiving end of things. It had always been him comforting Sam, not the other way around. But Sam had slowly wheedled his way into Dean’s usual position—nightmare watch and making sure he ate and slept and was well taken care of and happy—and it was getting easier and easier to rely on him. This was how brothers should be. They should hold each other together. They should rely on each other. They should be there for each other when no one else was around. Whether it was Dean or Sam doing the holding like he was now, Dean knew that they’d be okay. Two broken pieces of Winchester wrapped together like this—it was like they were fixed, at least for a little while.

“Sam,” Dean whispered shakily. The darkness around him and the way Sam seemed to touch him with such reverence made speaking at a normal volume seem wrong somehow. Alone with his brother, Dean could let his guard down.

Sam didn’t respond except to shift under him. Dean imagined Sam watching him in the darkness, wondered if, with his heightened senses, Sam could see him.

“I just… You know I love you, right? I mean, I don’t say it all that often, but… I dunno. Just… thanks. For everything, man.”

There was a long pause, but the air had a lack of tension in it that led to a companionable silence. Dean knew Sam would respond, so he didn’t push it.

“You don’t have to thank me, Dean,” Sam eventually answered. “I’m your brother. You know I’ll always have your back.”

Dean nodded against Sam’s chest. Sam _was_ his brother. It didn’t matter so much now that he was older, that it was supposed to be Dean protecting _Sam_ , not the other way around. They’d fought back to back, had taken on countless demons and monsters together. There wasn’t another person in the world that the trusted as much as his brother. The same would have held true even if John had still been alive.

There wasn’t ever a time when it wasn’t Sam and Dean. Even when he was off at Stanford, Sam knew that Dean had his back. They were brothers through everything.

“I know you will, Sammy.” Dean pressed a small kiss to Sam’s bare torso, the only place he could reach without removing himself from Sam’s hold.

Sam pulled him in a little closer, holding him almost painfully, but Dean couldn’t think of a single reason to protest. Sam’s thumb absentmindedly stroked his arm, the small movement making Dean close his eyes, a smile playing on his lips.

This was his heaven, right here.

The whole world could fall away, blast itself into a nuclear wasteland or a zombie-apocalypse, and he wouldn’t care about any of it as long as he still had his brother. If his life proved nothing else, it was that he and Sammy were a package deal. If one of them was gone, the other wouldn’t exist, not really.

Sam’s aftershave mixed in with his normal scent of musk and woods and just plain comfort. Dean’s breathing steadied, lips still tingling from Sam’s earlier attention, and he didn’t have a single care in the world. Sam was warm and alive beneath him, just as relaxed as he was, drifting off to sleep in the pitch black motel room that might as well have been home to the both of them.

Sam kissed his forehead again, the same way Dean would kiss Sam goodnight when they were much younger and not as scared of the things that went bump in the night.

“Night, Dean,” Sam whispered.

“Night, Sammy.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter will come on Friday. It will contain spoilers for the s03 finale, just in case you're not caught up. See you all then :) 
> 
> If you like it = kudos  
> If you love it = comment  
> If you like _and_ love it = kudos, comment, and run screaming through your neighborhood in nothing but underwear and the vintage superman cape you so obviously own, screaming obscenities that you had to hold back whilst reading this fic. And then comment again from your therapist's office :)


	4. On Bad Days (s04)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spoilers up to about mid-season 3 of _Supernatural_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy. Crap. I can't believe how many people like this fic. It's quickly overtaking my other fics and still rising. You guys are all awesome :) 
> 
> Enjoy ;)

Dean curled in on himself, staring at some spot on the wall he didn’t really see. Ever since he’d dropped the bomb about remembering Hell, he hadn’t felt the need to hide the depth of the pit inside of him. His eyes continually slipped in and out of focus, brain allowing his thoughts to move fluidly to the forefront of his mind then back again, sometimes picking a single strain to concentrate on, but mostly just letting them slip into the black pool of his subconscious before he could even hope to grasp it.

It was all too much. He knew it. He knew that Sam knew it. Forty years in The Pit nearly overshadowed his entire life. It was only after he’d dug his way out of his own grave that he allowed himself to remember _before_.

“ _Dean._ ”

Sam was just a little kid in his mind. He was short and gangly with too many questions and a stubborn streak that put their father to shame. And there’d been a time—about the last decade of his stay actually—when he refused to even think his brother’s name. _Sammy_ was stricken from his vocabulary, disregarded as his brother because if there was one thing Sam wasn’t, it was brother to a demon.

“ _Dean_?”

Slick thoughts invaded his consciousness, visions of countless souls on the rack in front of him, all mixed in with Sammy’s smiling face.

Tears dripped down the side of Dean’s eyes, falling in silent streams into the mattress as the guilt rose in him. Shame, disgust, anger—they all built up to a crescendo that colored his life in shades of blood and decay.

“ _Come on, Dean_.”

A warm hand touched his shoulder, and Dean flinched. He looked up into a pair of familiar hazel eyes, watching his brother’s forehead crease in concern. Sam was worried about him.

Dean brushed a hand over his face in an attempt to dry his tears, but they didn’t seem to have any intention of stopping, so Dean left them to their own devises, unable to do anything but allow them to trail down his cheeks.

He expected Sam to ask if he was okay. No, Sam hardly paid much attention to him anymore. What Dean expected was for Sam to nod his head, taking his word for it, and offer to get some food or coffee or smutty magazines just to give him an excuse to leave. It’d been happening more and more with each passing week, Sam avoiding him like the plague.

It wasn’t like Dean didn’t deserve it.

But Sam didn’t do any of those things.

He stood up without another word and kicked off his boots. One more assessing look in Dean’s direction, and Sam was crawling onto the bed next to him. A strong arm pulled him gently backwards until his head rested on Sam’s arm, and his brother’s torso warmed him from behind.

Dean brought his knees up, closer to his chest, but Sam’s other arm was there, snaking around his waist and holding him close.

“’M sorry, Sammy,” Dean apologized.

Sam curled around Dean and held him tighter. “No reason to be sorry,” he whispered.

Dean shook his head in disagreement. “Plenty of reasons,” he murmured, so low that Sam hardly heard him.

He gasped in shock when Sam pulled his shoulders back, flipping him over so that Sam was hovering above him in one fluid movement. It had been a long time since Dean had had to fight his brother, but Sam’s strength surprised him, shocked him into submission when he normally would have struggled.

Dean looked away, unable to hold Sam’s gaze, his eyes too intense, too angry.

“Look at me,” Sam ordered.

This time, he held his eyes away in defiance, glaring steadily at the corner of windowsill. Dean felt Sam’s shoulders go lax. They still held him down, still pressed tight to him, but they were no longer angry, tension leaving him just as quickly as it came.

“Look at me,” Sam whispered.

Dean never could resist when Sam asked him like that. Worse than kicking a puppy was saying no to Sam. Sam was his _brother_. More than that, he was the only thing keeping Dean going.

He brought his eyes back to Sam’s face, catching an expression that had him swallowing thickly. Sam’s lips pursed just slightly, brow creased in concern, eyes sparkling. Sam held his gaze unrepentantly, not letting Dean look away.

“You,” Sam said, conviction prevalent in his tone, “are the best man I know. If there was anything else that you could have done, you would have done it.”

“Shoulda done better,” Dean said before he could hold it back.

Sam sighed and rested his forehead against his brother’s. “I’ve practically idolized you since I was old enough to walk, Dean. I used to put on your shoes and jacket and pretend I was allowed to Hunt with you and Dad. You didn’t have to do anything but be yourself, and you showed me what a _good person_ was, Dean.”

He shivered when Sam’s lips connected with his, just a small kiss before he was speaking again just millimeters away.

“You're dedicated and strong—” _kiss_ “—passionate—” _kiss_ “—confident, intelligent—” _kiss_ “—honorable and generous and loyal _—_ ” _kiss_ “— _infuriatingly overprotective_ and completely fucking insane at the best of times.”

Dean’s mouth parted to let his brother in, tasting the sweetness of Sammy’s tongue for the first time in months. He closed his eyes, for once seeing nothing but the reddish tint of his lids as he moaned into his brother’s mouth. Sam’s tongue caressed his own, moving unhurriedly, soothing him with the simple movement.

Gone were the thoughts running rampant in his mind. The only thing he could focus on was his brother’s kiss, how hot, how wet, how sweet it felt to have him so close after so long. His raised his arms to wrap around Sam’s neck, keeping him that way.

Sam turned his neck, deepening the kiss, taking it to a place neither of them had been before. There had always been light kisses between them. As far back as they could remember, they’d been close. But this was something new, something unexplored. The hitch in Sam’s breathing made it strange and exciting and so, so wrong, but Dean didn’t have it in him to push Sam away. In light of his brother’s soft lips and slick tongue, there wasn’t anything that mattered to Dean more than having Sam stay with him like this.

He answered with a gasp of his own, eyes flying open in surprise as Sam nipped his lip, smirking into Dean’s mouth before claiming it again.

Minutes, hours, days could have passed, and Dean wouldn’t have known. His skin tingled with the contact, and his mind was a mass of static. Blood pumped loud in his ears so that all he could hear was his own rapid heartbeat and unsteady breathing.

When Sam pulled back completely, Dean smiled up at him, lips wet and swollen from the attention.

“You’re a good man, Dean,” Sam said.

A flash of skepticism crossed Dean’s face, but Sam just smiled and gave him a soft peck. He rolled over and readjusted them both until Dean was spooned in front of him, head resting on Sam’s arm, their fingers linked together over Dean’s stomach.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Monday will bring chapter 5, and it will be the official halfway point of this fic. See you all then! 
> 
> If you like it = kudos  
> If you love it = comment  
> If you like _and_ love it = kudos, comment, and fill your bathtub with tomato sauce so that you can pretend to be a meatball and contemplate the true meaning of your existence.


	5. Hair Bands and Good Times (s05)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not really spoilers for this, but it takes place during s05e08: "Changing Channels."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm really sorry it's late, guys. Life got in the way, and I didn't get back to my house until late. Please forgive me? 
> 
> I know it's been done before, but I kinda wanted to put a little twist on Changing Channels with this chapter. And guess what? Almost no angst! Enjoy ;)

“I’m not gonna fuck my brother!” Dean yelled at the ceiling, kicking one of the video camera stands over in anger. “Goddam perv,” he mumbled.

Sam didn’t seem as disconcerted as he was about this whole thing. Sure, _Doctor Sexy M.D._ had had him freaking out, but being thrust into freaking _Casa Erotica_ was just fine and dandy. He watched Sam run his hands over the set props, even picking up a box of condoms and examining it.

“We need to figure a way out of here, man,” Dean said, getting antsy. His hands were flitting nervously at his thighs, drumming the beat to “Purple Haze,” no doubt brought on by the color of the room. It was like they were standing in a ‘70s bachelor pad, complete with purple lava lamps and fuzzy throw pillows in the shape of peace signs. “Any ideas?”

Sam scoffed and threw something at him.

Dean caught it out of instinct and then immediately dropped it in shock, much to Sam’s amusement. The sound of his brother laughing brought him up short. He flipped him off easily and picked up the bottle of lube— _WildRide Personal Lubricant: get in touch with your wild side_ —setting it on the bedside table.

“Very funny,” Dean said, unamused.

“You’re the one who said to just go with it.”

“I didn’t mean this! Goddammit, Sam, get your head in the game!”

Sam quirked an eyebrow but didn’t say anything. He knew he was overreacting, not that someone wanting him to _fuck his brother_ wasn’t a big deal, but it wasn’t much different that the thousands of times they’d been mistaken for a couple over the years, people assuming he was too butch, overcompensating for his gayness or some crap like that.

This pissed him off more that a passing comment though. The Trickster gave them a whole set, shitty porn music, fucking _lube_. They may share the stray kiss or two, but this, _sex_ , was a line they didn’t cross. It wasn’t like that, not for Sam at least.

 _Not for me either_ , he tried to convince himself.

But Sam standing right in front of him, picking up the lube again, contemplating something that had his lips pursing in concentration, made him want to suck that lip into his mouth and lather it with attention.

It was far from the comforting kisses they’d traded over the years. Ever since last year, the bad days and even worse nights spent with Sam made things grow inside of him that were getting harder and harder to ignore.

Sam’s stray hand on his shoulder, his neck, his lower back, just casual touches that they shared as they poured through information or passed each other weapons made his groin quiver with something it shouldn’t. He couldn’t pull away, not unless he wanted Sam to reject him completely. It had been a long and hard road just getting back to trusting each other. Add to that some totally fucked up romantic notions and Dean was screwed six ways from Sunday.

“So what do you want to do?” he asked, hoping Sam didn’t hear the slight crack in his voice.

His brother shrugged. “Well, unless you plan on sticking it somewhere it doesn’t belong, I say we just stay put until he gets bored.”

 _Where it doesn’t belong_.

As if Sam would ever want him like that.

 _God, what the hell is wrong with me_?

“You okay?”

“Yeah,” Dean said. “Just peachy. So we just hang?”

“Seems like.”

Dean ran a hand through his hair, shaking tiny flakes of gel onto the floor before he walked over to the stereo system and fiddled with the knobs. REO Speedwagon blared through the static-y speakers. It wasn’t the best, but it definitely beat “Doctor Sex.”

He kicked off his boots and fell back onto the bed, legs bent at the knees, settling himself in for the long haul.

“ _Ridin' the storm out… waitin' for the thaw out_ ,” Dean sang, mimicking the drums in the background, bottom lip between his teeth.

He saw Sam shake his head and bark out a laugh.

“What?” he asked.

“Nothing.”

“Seriously. What?”

“You remember when Dad was showing us those magic tricks?”

Dean chuckled. “The disappearing quarter,” he recalled.

“Yeah.” Sam unlaced his boots and slipped them off his feet, laying upside down next to Dean, their heads just inches from each other. “I had to have spent hours trying to figure that one out—all of them really, but especially that quarter trick.”

“We were snowed in at a motel room for three days during that storm. You went stir crazy trying to figure it out. Dad spent the whole time looking like he’d been punched in the jewels, probably wishing he’d never tried to distract you with magic.”

Sam chuckled. “Made me scrape the frost off the Impala windows for bugging him so much.”

Dean laughed. “Oh yeah. I forgot about that. The look on your face when he told you that you had to go outside, it was like someone kicked your puppy.”

“Hey,” he objected. “It was _cold_ , Dean.”

“Still,” Dean continued their conversation. “It wasn’t as bad as that storm in South Dakota.”

REO Speedwagon changed over to Whitesnake, both boys recognizing the song that was on in the back ground while they remembered their first trip to Bobby’s house.

Sam nodded. “You were terrified that we’d die before we hit Bobby’s.”

“No I wasn’t. I just didn’t like how close the lightening looked.”

“You practically peed your pants in the back seat.”

Dean glared at Sam. “Yeah, well… It was fine once we got there.”

Sam nodded.

Actually, it was fine _before_ they’d gotten to Bobby’s. Sam faked a stomach ache until John sent him in back with Dean. With Sam curled around him, Dean had settled down pretty quickly.

In the silence, the song drifted into their minds, reminiscent of their childhood on the road. _Oh Lord, I pray You give me strength to carry on, 'cause I know what it meeeans to walk along the lonely street of dreeeams…_

“ _Here I go again on my own…_ ” they belted out at the same time. “ _Goin' down the only road I've ever known_ …”

Dean nudged Sam’s shoulder, prompting the younger brother to smack him on the chest. Retaliation was in order. Dean reached up and locked Sam in a head lock, but couldn’t keep him for long. By the end of the chorus, Sam was out of the hold and was maneuvering Dean into one of his own.

Whitesnake changed to Guns N’ Roses, Guns N’ Roses to Warrant, and by the time they’d finished, Poison was playing “Talk Dirty to Me,” no doubt the Trickster’s doing, trying to get things back on track.

Sam and Dean collapsed back on the bed, sweaty and laughing like they hadn’t been in a long time. With as much Hunting as they’d been doing, there wasn’t really any need for them to exercise, or spar even. It felt nice, Dean decided, to fool around with his brother, even if it wasn’t the kind of fooling around he really wanted to do.

And there it was…

A frown took over Dean’s relaxed smile at the thought, and he second guessed himself. More than once, his hand had brushed across Sam’s ass, thighs nearly pressed together once or twice while Sam flipped him over or he tried a new hold. Did Dean enjoy it because he liked sparring or because it was the only opportunity he had to be that close to his brother?

Not only that, but these things didn’t just come out of nowhere. They were slow builders. Just how far back did it reach, Dean wondered. How long had he wanted Sam… _like that_?

“Dean?”

“Yeah?” He looked up into Sam’s eyes, just now noticing that Sam was leaning on his elbow to get a better look at him.

“You okay?”

“Of course, man. Fine and dandy.”

Sam sighed, obviously aware of Dean’s inner turmoil, but not wanting to pry. Instead he pressed a kiss to Dean’s cheek, the small area of skin tingling now with the touch. “Don’t worry so much about it,” Sam said. “The Trickster can’t keep us in here forever.”

“Yeah,” he agreed. If that was the only problem Dean had, he’d be set.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you like it = kudos  
> If you love it = comment  
> If you like _and_ love it = kudos, comment, and skip to my lou around the mulberry bush while three blind mice chase the weasel. And also something about the pied piper. I think. Hmmm... I may need to review...
> 
> Chapter 6 to come next Monday, people. That's one week :)


	6. Something Wrong (s06)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> SPOILERS: s06 of _Supernatural_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm really sorry for not posting a chapter on Friday, everyone. I had a shitty day, and I just didn't feel like finishing off the chapter. For those of you who follow me on [Tumblr](http://wincesterunited.tumblr.com/), you know what happened. For everyone else, I'm just gonna say that flamers suck ass. Anywho... Slow build time is nearly over. This chapter will conclude the non-smut sections of the fic (talk about a slow build). It's far from schmoopy, but there will be some fluff in the next chapter. 
> 
> Enjoy ;)

Sam passed by him on the way to the kitchen, hand trailing across his shoulder blades in a way that had Dean shivering at the contact. Unlike the year before—when he’d spend all of his time trying to ignore the lust coursing through him—Dean’s stomach cringed. He watched Sam pour himself a cup of coffee from the pot and lean back against the counter, sipping it as if it wasn’t scalding hot.

“What?” he asked when he caught Dean staring.

“Nothing,” Dean mumbled. He turned back to the laptop and clicked to open an article.

He didn’t hear Sam sneaking up behind him until his head was nearly resting on his shoulder. “Find something?” he asked.

Dean jumped, startled at the voice that was so close to him.  “No,” he said. “Nothing yet.”

Sam kissed him on the cheek and stood. He walked into the bathroom, shutting the door quietly behind him, leaving Dean sitting at the table.

Dean rand his hand over his face and sighed. He didn’t expect Sam to be the same, not after whatever had happened in the cage. And being back together after a year apart? Yeah, things would be different. But they’d been apart before and nothing really changed then. They’d changed now though.

Sam still touched him, still kissed his cheek and rubbed his shoulders, still said nice things and looked at him with lust, but… Dean didn’t know. The touches didn’t linger like they used to, and the kisses were flat, the lust more predatory than amorous.

This time, Dean heard the bathroom door open behind him. Focused solely on the laptop in front of him, he tracked Sam’s movements by the soft padding of his footsteps. A quiet creak and he knew Sam was on the bed.

He clicked on another article and read through it.

“Think I might’ve found something,” he said. Dean turned around. “Just check—” The words died on his tongue at the sight of his brother.

Sam smirked as Dean took him in, all six foot four inches of bare skin and more-than-interested parts that Dean chose to ignore.

“What the fuck, Sam?”

Sam shrugged, nonchalant. “Thought you might want to release a little tension,” he said. “You seem a little on edge.”

“ _Release a little tension_?”

Sam smirked. “I know you want me, Dean,” he said reasonably. “Any more blood rushes to your cock and you won’t have anything left for your brain.”

Dean frowned and turned back toward the laptop. Despite Sam’s goading, he was still soft in his pants, cock not trying to rise in the slightest. Sam was more toned than the last time he’d seem him without a shirt on— _without anything_ —but for some reason, the sight of his wide chest, the muscular set to his arms even without him flexing, didn’t have Dean looking away in shame at thoughts of his brother in ways he shouldn’t be thinking.

“Seriously, Dean,” Sam continued. “It’s fine. We can’t have any messed up kids, so that part’s out the window. We’re both consenting adults, no manipulation here, so the whole sibling abuse thing is gone too. The only thing left on the table is social standards which we don’t live by anyway. I’m horny. You want me. It’s just sex.”

And that was it though, wasn’t it?

 _It’s just sex_.

Just sex.

Dean shook his head and scoffed. “Put your clothes back on, Sam. You wanna relieve a little tension? Go to a bar. Pick up a chick. Get your freak on.” He opened the search bar and slammed his fingers down on the keys, trying different things but yielding no results, typing just for the sake of distraction.

“Whatever, Dean. Your loss.”

Dean could just imagine the shrug Sam would have tossed, the patronizing look that said _you’re an idiot_ without the hint of affection that normally would have followed it, the look that said _you’re an idiot, but you’re my idiot, even if I don’t like that you’re an idiot, idiot_. Dean slammed the laptop closed and ambled toward the five foot kitchen space to pour himself some whiskey.

 _It’s just sex_.

Fucking Sam.

He leaned against the counter and belted his drink down in one straight shot, felt the burn crawl through his chest and warm his entire body, poured another. By his third, he was feeling more than a little anger.

The bathroom door opened, and Sam—the fully dressed version—came out. He eyed Dean and walked toward him, stopping when he was only a few feet away. Dean could smell his aftershave, the same scent that would waft into his nose while they slept just inches away on bad nights, the one that smelled like motel bathrooms after a lukewarm shower and prank wars and cold nights and the too-close space of the Impala, but the expression on Sam’s face was calculating, not concerned, so Dean took a small sip of whiskey and ignored it.

“I know you want me, Dean,” Sam said. “I don’t get why we can’t just have sex and get it over with.”

Dean scoffed again. “’Cause it’s wrong,” he said.

Sam’s face turned pensive, straying out of the _I’m right, you’re an idiot_ zone and into _I’m trying to figure something out so leave me alone, Dean, and let me think_.

Dean drained his glass and set in on the counter behind him, leaving it for now. He needed to finish researching, couldn’t afford do get drunk tonight. He didn’t have a chance to notice Sam slinking closer. The only indication that he’d even moved at all was how the smell of his aftershave seemed to get just that little bit stronger.

He looked up into Sam’s eyes, watching the still calculating expression on it, ready to tell Sam to back the fuck off, except he couldn’t because his mouth was otherwise occupied.

Sam’s lips parted to let him in, tongue running across is teeth, teeth clashing, clashing tongues. Dean tasted _Sam_ , something he couldn’t describe if given a dictionary, and relished in the familiarity of the motion. It was seamless for him to fall back into their ways, to move his lips, knowing instinctively when to turn his neck to angle for a better position.

But it was different—not _I love you_ or _let me help_ or even _I need this, please_. It was undoubtedly _just sex_ and Dean couldn’t do it.

He shoved Sam off of him, glaring daggers at his brother. “Stay the fuck off of me,” Dean warned.

Sam held his hands up in surrender, but he was anything but contrite. “Whatever you say, man,” he agreed.

A shiver of disgust crawled down his spine, more than just the usual self-hatred that accompanied him after he kissed his brother. This wasn’t a one night stand, some chick he’d picked up at the bar or diner or grocery store. This was _his brother_. It should have been more than that, more than just a random fuck to him. But it wasn’t.

“Yeah,” Dean said, not sure what he was saying yeah to, only that the situation seemed to call for it. He shook his head to clear it and ran a hand over his face. He needed to get out of here. “I’m goin’ to the bar,” he said. “Don’t wait up.”

Sam shrugged and sat down at the table, opening the laptop and skimming over the pages Dean had open.

Something was wrong. Dean just didn’t know what.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you like it = kudos.  
> If you love it = comment.  
> If you like _and_ love it = kudos, comment, and dance! _Dale a tu cuerpo alegria Macarena. Que tu cuerpo es pa' darle alegria y cosa buena. Dale a tu cuerpo alegria, Macarena._ Heeeeey Macarena! AAAhAA!  
> Thanks for sticking with me even though I suck and break promises of chapters every few days. My muse is being an asshole and has left me in the middle of the next chapter with no hope of return. Fret not, my pretties, I'll have it to you sometime this upcoming week. I've just had a lot on my plate :)


	7. Different, Real (s07)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> SPOILERS: Up to s07e02

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can blame it on me being sick, or my muse flitting away, or work, or all of the homework I still need to do, but mostly this is late because I've just been too lazy to write much this past week or so. But don't give up on me just yet, people. The chapters are coming, slowly but surely. I _will_ finish this fic—I have no doubts about that—but I probably won't get the next chapter to you tomorrow or Monday. 
> 
> Barring promises, both chapters should be out, and this fic should be complete, next week. 
> 
> Thank you to everyone who's continuing to read. I'm sorry I'm not as consistent as I was in the beginning. Hopefully this chapter will make up for it :)

Sam hung up the phone and turned to Dean. His eyes were still sunken, a thin sheen of sweat on his face. “Bobby’s got a live one,” he said.

“Okay, well let’s go.”

“Dean, wait.”

Dean turned around and looked at his brother. Sam still held his injured hand, rubbing against the wound that obviously needed to be restitched and bandaged. Blood dripped from it and leaked steadily onto the warehouse floor. It had to have hurt, but then again, that was the point, wasn’t it? He watched Sam hesitate, biting his lip in a way that had Dean wanting to crawl into the cage and skin Lucifer alive for what he’d done to his brother.

“I… How do I do it, Dean?”

“Like I said, you build on it, Sammy. You find all the things that’re different, prove that you’re not there anymore until it’s one hundred percent. We’ll deal with it all one at a time, knock ‘em down as they come like we always do.” He shot Sam a smile and got a small one in return. “You ready?”

Sam pursed his lips and stared at Dean for so long that Dean was beginning to think that Lucifer was whispering into his ear again. But Sam was looking at _Dean_ , not into corners that held things he couldn’t see. Sam stared straight at him, contemplating something Dean couldn’t read.

“You’re right,” Sam eventually said. “It’s different.”

He didn’t know what made Sam come to that realization, but whatever it was, he was glad for it. “Good. Then let’s go,” Dean said again, turning back towards the door so they could help Bobby with the leviathan he’d found.

A warm hand touched his shoulder, stopping him in his tracks. Sam turned him around, and Dean moved willingly under Sam’s hand as he sank down for a kiss.

Sam’s lips trembled at first, his whole body practically shaking against him, but this was something that Dean had plenty of practice in. Soothing his brother was second nature, and Dean took to it like a man possessed. He slipped his hand around Sam’s waist, holding him close, and angled his neck to pull Sam in deeper.

Sam tensed under him, frozen after the initial kiss, until Dean’s other hand came up over his shoulder and behind his neck to cradle his head. Everywhere Dean touched, Sam seemed to relax, muscles calming from their earlier rigidity. Dean parted his lips and Sam followed suit, letting his big brother lead.

Dean molded their lips together, molding his own to host his brother, mouth opening just that little bit wider when Sam brazenly slipped his tongue inside. He could taste Sam, smell Sam, _feel_ Sam around him to the point where the entire warehouse disappeared from around him and he couldn’t even remember the reason why it was so important he do this for Sam except that it felt _right_ , felt like he _belonged_.

His hands never halted their movement. They slid up and down Sam’s torso, caressing him, feeling how every muscle loosened beneath his touch, and he couldn’t help but groan into the kiss.

Sam moved with him equally now, and Dean counted it as a success even as his brain short-circuited, thoughts driven from his mind with his brother’s mouth insistent against his, hands touching him in return—his neck, his back, his ass, lower.

Sam grasped him by the thighs and lifted him, Dean clinging to him now, hanging from his neck, legs wrapped around his torso, and not once did the kiss break. Both of them continued to ravish the other’s mouth.

Dean panted, body overwhelmed with the sensations running through him, into Sam’s waiting mouth, and Sam wasn’t much better. His breathing was labored, warm air shared between them in white puffs. It was cold in the warehouse, but neither seemed to care, too caught up in touching.

Dean’s back hit a wall, jarring him for a moment, and his head flung back, neck arching as his brother continued the kiss down his jawline and onto his neck. He groaned, long and loud, and felt his hard cock twitch in his pants, felt something just as hard rubbing rhythmically against it.

His breathing hitched at the friction. The stimulation had him clawing at Sam’s neck for _moregodpleasemore_ , just a little bit harder, rougher, and Sam seemed to know what he needed because there he was, biting down on Dean’s collar bone, marking him as his.

Sam thrust his hips in, using the leverage against the wall to brush their clothed cocks together again. They both groaned at once, their erections no longer ignored between them, and Dean couldn’t keep from grinding into the touch.

He kept up the movement—Sam holding him steady against the wall, mouth against his shoulder now—unable to bring a single protest to mind, no reason he shouldn’t be pressed this close to his brother, cocks brushing together, groaning at the continuous friction while Sam nipped at him.

Sam made a choking noise in his ear, muscles clamping down on him, going rigid all at once, and Dean knew he came, hot and wet into his pants, just from thrusting against him. Sam groaned and held him tighter, using the wall to brace him better as his arms wrapped around him. The movement was enough to set Dean off as well. He came in his pants, feeling the wetness spread around him, white hot spurts of come staining his cotton pants.

He panted, hard and heavy, trying to catch his breath, and wasn’t surprised to see that Sam was in a similar state of dishevelment. Dean grinned, unrepentant for the time being, about what had occurred between them. He had no doubts in his mind that the self-loathing would get to him later, but with Sam still holding him like this, cocks spent between them, he couldn’t help but grin like a fool.

“This,” Sam said with wonder. “Is real.”

That statement alone had Dean leaning in for another kiss to prove his theory.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you like it = kudos.  
> If you love it = comment.  
> If you like _and_ love it = kudos, comment, and gather 'round the campfire to sing our campfire song—that's C-A-M-P-F-I-R-E-S-O-N-G song...


	8. Missed You (s08)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spoilers up to s08e11: LARP and the real girl.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I planned on having this posted almost two weeks ago, but I was volun-told that I was working extended hours, and all of the time I set aside for smut-writing flitted away like a dream. However, I plan on having more time this week to work on my prospective fic list, so I should have the final chapter to you by Friday and possibly a fic or two this weekend. If not, feel free to kick my ass in the comments until I post :)

Charlie walked away from the two of them, and Dean couldn’t help a small smile from appearing on his face when she flashed him a Vulcan salute and backed away, walking off to do her queenly thing.

The smile all but disappeared from his face in the time it took to turn to Sam. Things hadn’t been going well. Even Charlie had seen it. Dean had fucked shit up again, and now all he could do was his damnedest to fix it.

“So what’s, uh… what’s next?” he asked. “’Cause no fun, right?” His tone dripped sarcasm, which wasn’t the front he wanted to present.

Dean scratched at his forehead and looked away for a moment, gathering his bearings. He slipped his hands in his pockets and tried to look Sam in the eye, still not quite able to.

“Look,” he said. “Before you say anything, I get it. No amount of fun is going to help you get over what you gave up. You just, uh… you need time, right?”

Sam nodded. “Yeah. You’re right. Thanks.”

His voice was clipped, but there was the ghost of a smile on his face, so Dean took it as a success.

“And you’re right.” Sam cleared his throat. “Having fun won’t help me.”

Dean pursed his lips and shoved his hands deeper into his pockets.

“It’ll help the both of us.”

Dean looked up, confused at the change of thought until he caught the smirk on Sam’s face, one he hadn’t seen since before purgatory.

Sam quirked an eyebrow and nodded his head in the direction of the maintenance tent. “Shall we?”

Dean nearly grinned, but stifled it just in time. If Sam wasn’t making a big deal out of it, neither would he. He half-shrugged, smirked a little, avoided eye contact like it was the plague, but he pulled it off. “Yeah,” he nodded.

Sam grinned then and shoved Dean toward the tent. “Come on.”

Dean cleared his throat and let his brother lead him. Sam’s hands rested on his shoulders, guiding him, and Dean shoved his hands deeper into his pockets to keep them from shaking.

Sam had moved on, found a girl, settled down. It was like him and Lisa only more stable, less paranoid. Ever since he got back, the casual touches had been just that: casual. And gone were the reassuring kisses, the holding each other together through the night. Dean was on his own, and he knew that it was because he’d taken things too far. They couldn’t even be brothers now because Dean had screwed it up. He’d ruined everything by letting his feelings grow into something sick and twisted. Sam had obviously realized it with Amelia, that what they did was wrong, that _Dean_ was fucked up for wanting it. It was why he shied away whenever Dean got close, why he continued looking at Dean as if he was a stranger, why he slept in his own bed at night, even with the nightmares.

But Sam continued leading him to the tent. His hands slipped from Dean’s shoulders to his waist just as Dean stepped foot inside the tent, Sam stepping in behind him and kissing up and down his neck like he knew Dean was starved for the contact. Dean moaned into him. He stretched his neck to the side to let Sammy in, and Sam hummed in appreciation. He kept up the assault, effectively grounding Dean’s mind right into the gutter with the rest of his body.

Dean’s cock hardened quickly with Sam’s assault on his neck. His little brother’s hands  wrapped around him from behind, slipping under his shirt, and quickly unbuttoned his jeans. It wasn’t long before his hard cock was out and leaking. Dean gasped when Sam’s hand wrapped around his shaft, pumping it slowly.

“ _Mmmmm_ ,” he moaned. “Sammy.”

Sam kissed his neck again. “Off, take it off.”

Dean’s arms moved of their own accord to rid himself of clothing—jacket, shirts, pants all gone. Sam pulled down Dean’s boxers and slipped two slick fingers inside of him, and he arched at the contact. He was stretched too quickly, but Sam’s lips were back at his neck, and his brother’s bare chest was pressed against his back. Any protests that came to mind were quickly discarded.

He didn’t wonder where his brother got the lube or when he’d undressed. The only thought in his mind was of the thick fingers inside of him, how they twisted and curled.

“Fuck, Sammy. More.”

Sam obliged and slipped a third finger inside of him, thrusting them gently and spreading them out to stretch him to take his cock.

Dean knew what was coming. He felt Sam’s cock sliding between his legs, pressing between his thighs. Dean thrust back onto the fingers and imagined them longer, thicker, smoother with a bulbous head that would stretch him wide and fill him up and make him see stars, a gentle thrust of the hips, cock twitching inside of him.

He moaned and panted, kept thrusting back to take them deeper, happy when Sam added another finger to his throbbing hole.

“Dean,” Sam panted.

And then his fingers were gone, pulled away from him, leaving him empty.

Dean nearly whimpered at the loss, but something smooth and slick pressed against his hole, and he knew that Sam was ready to take him.

Sam pressed his cock in, the head slipping past Dean’s tight ring of muscle, making Dean hiss at its thickness. He wasn’t more than an inch inside, but his cock was more than proportional, and Dean had a hard time taking him in, even with four fingers as prep.

“Relax for me, Dean,” Sam whispered against his ear.

Shivers rolled down Dean’s back, making his cock twitch, but he relaxed his muscles and let his brother in.

Sam continued until his cock filled Dean’s hole completely. Their thighs pressed together, and Dean couldn’t keep a choking sound from escaping his throat at being so full. He arched into Sam’s chest, the constant pressure against his prostate making him lose control.

He needed something.

“ _More_ ,” he choked out.

Sam pulled back his hips and thrust, slowly at first but gaining speed rather quickly.

Dean panted and moaned as his prostate was continuously assaulted, and he met each of his brother’s thrusts with ones of his own. Sam’s hand came around his waist to grip his cock again, stroking it in time with his thrusts.

“ _Mmmm_ , Dean.”

“ _Sammy_ , _Sammy_ , _Sammy_ , _Sammy_ ,” Dean chanted.

Sam groaned and bit down on his shoulder. Come flooded into Dean’s ass and slicked the way, making it easier for Sam to piston in and out of him, quickening his pace and fucking himself through his orgasm.

The hand on his cock squeezed just that little bit tighter and Dean came with a cry, shooting all over the tent with his brother filling him up. Sam’s cock continued fucking in and out of him until Dean was completely spent. Dean had trouble staying upright and not collapsing against his brother, but Sam pulled him in tight and nuzzled his neck.

“Missed you,” Sam whispered into his ear.

Dean smiled. “Me too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you like it = kudos.  
> If you love it = comment.  
> If you like _and_ love it = kudos, comment, and sacrifice a virgin to our dark lord* [chants in Latin]
> 
>  
> 
> *Note that sacrificial rituals are illegal in many countries. Please check laws and bylaws, and refrain from committing these acts in areas where they may be deemed inappropriate. Thank you.


	9. This Was Them (s09)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spoilers up to s9e05: "Dog Dean Afternoon"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry to say that this is it, the end, finito, finished. The last chapter of _Nothing More_ is below. Thank you to everyone who commented :) It's always awesome seeing you guys in my inbox. I have quite a few people subscribed to this fic, getting updates sent to their emails. I've heard from some of you, but definitely not all. I'd love it if you commented so I could hear what you all thought of this fic. It's not your last chance, but the end of the story is usually a good time to do it :) 
> 
> Enjoy the end, everyone! :)

Dean grinned at his brother and licked his cheek, trailing his tongue up to his ear and biting down on it. He felt Sam shiver against him, but he kept going, nudging his nose against Sam’s neck, scenting him. Maybe it was the heightened senses, or maybe it was almost losing him again, but there was something about Sam’s scent—a mix of gun oil and shampoo, something musky under that—that he couldn’t help but think smelled just like home.

Dean followed the scent downward until he was on level with Sam’s nipples. He licked them, alternating between the two dime-sized specks until they were shiny with spit. Sam gasped and moaned at the sensation, but Dean was in charge this time, and Sam stayed put like Dean told him, letting his big brother take the reigns like he had since the trials.

Things were different since then. Dean knew that Sam noticed how he stayed closer to him during Hunts, how he didn’t want to let him out of his sight. They hadn’t really slept apart much in the last year or so, but Dean clung to him now, holding him tighter while they drifted as if he’d flit away in his sleep. Dean felt bad for lying to him, but there was nothing he could do about that, not when he’d done it to protect his brother, even if it was from himself.

Dean’s movements became harder at the thought of losing Sam. He grabbed Sam’s sides and brought their lips together, the scent of gun oil and shampoo and musk assaulting his tongue when he licked inside.

Sam’s mouth welcomed him, his tongue snaking out and sliding next to Dean’s own. Dean’s lips sealed themselves around Sam’s, protecting their tongues as they mingled together, tasting each other. His lungs worked harder to pull in a breath, and Sam assaulted his senses—smell, taste, and touch all _Sam_ in his mind. Hands roamed his torso, rubbing up and down his sides, his back, cradling his head and angling it to give Sam better access to his mouth. Dean ran his tongue under Sam’s teeth and gasped when Sam did the same.

Straddling Sam’s hips like he was, it was hard to miss the hardened cock under him, how quickly his own cock seemed to respond to his brother. Dean breathed in Sam’s scent and lost himself in the feel of the body beneath him. It was easy enough to do.

Sam’s cheeks were flushed and red, skin hot beneath him. His lips were soft enough, even with the rough bump of split lip that added a copper taste to their kiss, and they moved in synch, just like he did when they Hunted together, every move so seamless it was as if it had been choreographed.

There wasn’t nearly enough of this, of the two of them just tasting each other. It seemed as if they went from Hunt to Hunt, town to town, avoiding angels and dealing with the trials and the damn Word of God, wondering whether or not they were going to live past the next week—hell, even the next day or the next fucking hour.

But when they were like this, all that mattered was that Sam was under him, panting into his mouth while their hips ground together, just trying to get closer; Sam’s cock hot and heavy and twitching with every brush of their hips; his own lips, curving up into a smile around his brother’s tongue because it had been so long since he’d had a chance to just sit and taste, to feel his brother moan beneath him.

Sam’s hands slipped from his sides to the front of his jeans. Nimble fingers unbuttoned them, slid the zipper down until his cock was exposed, weeping at the prospect of feeling the calloused hand around it.

One, two, three strokes.

Dean was gasping, unable to even move his lips in time with Sam’s anymore because of the _fucksogood_ feeling of his little brother’s hand on his cock. Dean bucked into him. He didn’t have the capacity to worry anymore about keeping his weight off of his brother, making sure he didn’t hurt him. He just ground down, ass brushing Sam’s cock through his jeans.

Sam moaned, and his hand sped up, precome slicking the way as Dean thrust into his fist.

It wasn’t long before both of them were panting and moaning, too far gone to do anything else but allow their bodies to rut against each other until they were completely undone.

Sam came first, come spilling from his swollen cock into his jeans, and Dean wasn’t far behind. Sam’s grip on his cock changed, became more forceful, and Dean’s breath hitched in his throat as some shot from his cock across Sam’s chest, some spilling onto his hand, making it easier for him to move up and down the rigid shaft.

Completely spent, Dean collapsed into Sam’s arms, head on his shoulder, both of their chests rising and falling rapidly. Dean’s mouth pulled up at the corners as his fingertips played over Sam’s nipple.

It didn’t matter whether there was a Hunt in town or whether the winged dick inside of his brother was doing his job and healing him or whether the fucking sky was staying in place and _not_ falling like the angels did because of the biggest winged dick of them all. This wasn’t looking for their dad and demon deals and Hell-time and Lucifer and the apocalypse and purgatory and the trials that nearly killed his brother. And it definitely wasn’t anything that anyone had a fucking right to complain about, not after everything they’d been through together, the fighting and the dying and the darkness that was everywhere, even in the day.

This was them. _SamandDean_. And fuck everything else.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you like it = kudos  
> If you love it = comment  
> If you wanna read it again = bookmark  
> If you like _and_ love it _and_ wanna read it again = kudos, bookmark, and write me a comment using only your nose to type :) 
> 
> It was fun, everyone :) I had a great time writing, and I hope you all had a fun time reading. See you again sometime soon!


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